<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Falling Into Place by JellyDishes</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26474017">Falling Into Place</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/JellyDishes/pseuds/JellyDishes'>JellyDishes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bonding over beer, Gen, In which Aednat is a scamp</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:28:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>976</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26474017</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/JellyDishes/pseuds/JellyDishes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>One year and an entire ocean away from the blight, and Aednat Surana was discovering to her displeasure that the life of a deserter from the grey wardens was nowhere near what the stories had made it out to be.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Hawke &amp; Female Warden (Dragon Age)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Falling Into Place</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was originally intended to be part of a much longer story, but it looks more and more like it won't ever be finished, so I am releasing it into the wild.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>One year and an entire ocean away from the blight, and Aednat Surana was discovering to her displeasure that the life of a deserter from the grey wardens was nowhere near what the stories had made it out to be. She was not half so brooding or attractive as the deserters always were in those tales for instance, which she was given to understand was a requirement, and the number of bounty hunters sent after her was somewhere between one and zero. The precise number was unimportant. What was important was that it was nearly impossible to get properly drunk with a warden’s constitution. She had already known that, but knowing it and being unable to wash away persistent nightmares with cheap ale were so different as to not even be on speaking terms.</p><p>She frowned down at her mug. It was leather, and hers, with a strap to tie it to her belt. Usually she was quite fond of this mug, as it had been a gift from Oghren when he had quit drinking, but right now it was betraying her. It held far too little ale in it, and she had no more money with which to buy more. “Say,” she said with a winning smile at the bartender, “did I ever tell you about the time I saved your life?”</p><p>“My life? Really,” he said with, she thought, unreasonably drawn out syllables. "Do tell.”</p><p>“Well, I’m not one to save and tell, but it involves ravenous hordes and your being so grateful that you give me that bottle in your hand.”</p><p>The bartender scoffed. “The only hordes I know about were driven back underground by the Hero of Fereldan a year ago,” he said as he very deliberately stowed the bottle back into its place above the bar. “And you have to get up a lot earlier -or a lot later- in the day for me to be that grateful.”</p><p>“Well,” Aednat said thoughtfully, earning her a considering look until she finished with, “what if I said I knew the Hero personally? That she called me one of her very best friends, who deserves, no, is entitled, to that bottle of mysterious liquid?”</p><p>“I’d call you a liar,” he said, but was laughing, which was more than could be said for Aednat. She’d opened her mouth in preparation for a truly stunning joke when she spotted a woman out of the corner of her eye, musclebound and bristling with weapons. She made it a point to be aware of what such people were up to, seeing as it often involved moving said weapons towards her face far too often for comfort, and sighed when her instincts were proven right as the woman slowed to a stop when her eyes fell upon Aednat. Aednat could almost visibly see the wheels turning in her head, and allowed her shoulders to slump as she leaned back on the bar. If she just so happened to allow one hand to settle upon the twisted end of a glaive she had adapted as a staff, well, that was her business.</p><p>The woman stopped short of her, which was nice, and did not immediately go for her sword, which was nicer. “I find myself in need of a grey warden,” the woman said, all stiffness and clipped words, and Aednat tilted her head to peer at her. She had the distinctive accent of a Ferelden just off the boat. Dressed like it, too, with more than her fair share of furs and leather. Not that Aednat was complaining, mind, but it certainly did mark the woman out, as did other things.</p><p>“What do you want my help for? Anybody in Kirkwall will tell you I’m an impostor, you can ask anyone. Isn’t that right?” Aednat asked, twisting to look at the men at the table beside her, who grinned. They were well familiar with her stories by now, which changed every time you asked her. Sometimes she had won her armor in a game of strip poker, sometimes she had stolen it from a warden taking a bath. Everyone generally agreed, however, that she was a harmless fool. Compared to some of the other things humans could assume about a wandering elf with dalish markings, she was more than happy to go with that.</p><p>“Oh yes,” the first said, chortling into his beer. “Last time I heard she made it herself out of salad forks and spit.”</p><p>“That’s not true!” The second man said excitedly, near tripping over himself to say, “I heard she’s a player! That she toured all over Orlais and Antiva, but the last play she was in ended in tragedy, and she has refused to break character ever sin-”</p><p>“Look!” The Ferelden snapped impatiently, cutting the man off with a slice of her hand. “That doesn’t matter. Are you a warden, or not?”</p><p>“You’d be better off going to meet the one in the sewers,” Aednat said gently. “I think he can help with a few other things, too.”</p><p>“Such as.” It wasn’t a question.</p><p>“Well, he’s a healer.” Aednat was smiling, flashing her lone dimple. “Seems only natural he could help remove that stick up your a-”</p><p>“Enough!” The Ferelden woman was flushed, which was a pretty look for her, as was the sight of that lovely square jaw tensing. “I will not stand here and be mocked like this.”</p><p>“Then sit down,” Aednat smiled. “I’ll even be generous and allow you to pay for the next round.”</p><p>The Ferelden sputtered and turned on her heel to stalk out, which Aednat watched with interest, and not just for the obvious reason. The mention of needing a warden had of course gotten her attention. The man Anders was rumored to be more than competent, she knew, but there was no substitute for doing things yourself.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>